Ovature, Curtain, Lights ...
And so it can never be said that the nights in New York are ever dull.
It began as most gatherings of Court usually do. We step through a doorway in the brownstone and exit into the gathering place itself. I must admit to being rather amused by this little arcane spell. Pity that I am not versed at such things. Heavens knows that it would have saved me a great many dives through windows, across roof tops and down trellises over the years had I such a parlor trick in my cache. Nonetheless, we arrive.
News quickly follows. Attacks by VII. It stands to reason given the date as being 7/7/07. One can plainly see that subtle is not their strong point. Key amongst their assaults is one against Jason and another against Abigail. I look at Rebecca and she seems unharmed, but these attacks on one of my Dragons and upon her ‘daughter’ make my blood rise. Everyone is on edge now; that too is to be expected.
Moments pass … and then a voice. An all too familiar one in an equally familiar tone.
“Julian …You’d love to go to the theatre tonight, wouldn’t you?”
I turn and she’s standing there with Abigail and Underwood. My eyes look at that face, at that fiery hair and those twinkling irises … and I know that whatever plans that I may have had are now changed. Theatre. Off-Broadway. An opening of a new show written by the college student that she told me of earlier. Romanotti … Rom … whatever. Somehow connected to the whole prophecy thing, and though I do not understand any of it, perhaps this little theatrical experience will make it somewhat more understandable, I turn toward Ethan and I know that look. And so it seems to be … a double date with a chaperone. How quaint.
We exit toward the parking lot outside the club. Moving toward the cars … cars, I say now since there are two more from the Connecticut contingent who appear to have the same notion as we five. In any case, we move to the cars only to see the lumbering forms of what can only be zombie-like creatures moving towards us. As we move closer to the vehicles, they break into a run, closing the distance between themselves and us. Quickly, we enter the cars. Both drivers decide that a game of ‘chicken’ is the best means of putting things to an end. As we barrel through the bodies, I call the Prince to inform him of these potential incoming visitors. “Si, they came running toward us. No, I do not believe that they were attempting to catch a ride with us to the theatre.”
Moments later, we are at the theatre. We enter and take our seats. The curtain rises and this little thespian work begins. In and of itself, the piece is not bad; not stellar, but certainly not the worst I have seen either. The piece tells the tale of a man who commits suicide and then reverts back in time to recount the 5 days leading up to that act. Interspersed amongst these ‘days’ is the exposition of a character who is apparently an ‘Angel’. Now, I, for one, have never been a great fan of the character who serves as a narrator of sorts, who breaks the fourth wall with the audience and then serves as a deus ex machine for the writer’s intentions. I could never stand when Thorton Wilder did it, let alone some would-be Shakespear like Rom. Needless to say, the Angel takes the gun from its location before the man can use it and so he does not commit suicide, and the man and his wife reconcile, and … happy ending. Final scene … the presence of a glimmer of hope for a better tomorrow for our fateful cast of characters. Bah.
Of course, mid-way through the play, I feel Rebecca’s head against my shoulder. As I look over, I know that she is not there any longer. I’ve seen this move far too many times before, which only makes me wish that I was no longer here either. As I settle my attentions back to the stage, I feel the gentle thud against my other shoulder. Abigail too has departed. Like mother, like ‘daughter’. I sigh heavily.
The play concludes and the ladies return, amidst the ovation which follows. Rebecca points out the author’s presence, as well as two others of dubious intention and interest. As people begin to move, we do as well. Ethan is behind stage, attempting to see what he can gleen from that vantage point. Rebecca and I move toward Rom for an introduction, but he rebuffs us both. Meanwhile, Underwood and Abigail attempt to engage one of the other questionable men. Nothing comes of that either. As Rom moves to the backstage area, I forewarn Ethan to not lose him. We move toward the front entrance to make our exit, and I hear that familiar whispered phrase again.
“Julian .. catch me.”
Rebecca’s body goes limp and my arms reach out to grab her collapsing form. Of course, Abigail follows suite and I find myself grabbing for her slack body as well. It stands to reason that two passed out women would gain the attentions of the surrounding patrons, who encircle us and offer medical assistance and aid. Thankfully, Austin steps forward and takes Abigail from my arms. We make excuses of heat and libations taking their toll on the two, and we quickly walk them outside for ‘fresh air’. The four of us, two present and two not, make our way to the car … and wait. In the meantime, Ethan has inserted himself in the detail of protection and hired hands surrounding Rom.
Eventually, the two female ethereals return to their slumbering forms. What follows makes little sense to me. Tales of someone who appears to be connected to Rom … or more appropriately Rome. The name I now recognize. Prestigious law firm. Former prosecutors turned high price defense lawyers. Stories of a suite at the firm. A refrigerator filled with jars of octopus ink, of hearts, of octopi, of swatches of skin. Seems that one of the senior partners is delving into more than the law tomes. Attempting to decipher it all, we decide to return to court.
Upon arrival, Thomas finds me and asks for a moment privately. I join him in another room and, in the blink of an eye, he drops the concealed form of Callaghan. Seems they two were at the theatre and ran afoul of something else, which left my fellow Dragon in this state. Thomas offers to bring him out of it, and although he too is Mekhet, I decline. Best that a Dragon wake one of his own. I slice open my palm and feed it to the unconscious form. Slowly, Callaghan comes too. I make a call and have one of my ‘friends’ come to meet me and give him further sustenance. Which only makes me realize that I truly do need to expand the “herd”.
In the meantime, Ethan and I exchange multiple text messages. Back and forth it goes. He has supplanted Rom’s bodyguard and now has the young man in custody. He asks what we should do and not knowing what it is that we need or want from this boy, I instruct him to keep to what would have been the planned schedule, so as not to divert from a timetable or draw further questioning and ire from the Senior Rom/Rome. Upon realizing that Ethan has none of the security access codes to the upstate family estate they are headed to, Abigail and Underwood are quickly dispatched to attempt to aide Ethan from the inside.
The rest of court was rather boring following that. Some shared stories as entertainment for this gathering hosted by the Crone. A competition of sorts, with a boon from the Prince as the offered prize. I smirk as I hear Rebecca’s name announced as the victor. We exchange glances and I can see that we both have our own celebrations in mind following court. Off to the boat for us. Yet, I quickly realize that Lorenzo has already departed, which leaves my other nephew quite alone. Equally, with Ethan and Abigail both upstate, Rebecca and I are equally unprotected against any further attacks that VII might attempt this night. So our plans alter, and the three of us ready ourselves to return to the brownstone. I attempt a call to Ethan to advise him of our new plans, but get no response.
And so it came to pass that at the end of the court gathering, we three left. The Heirophant-Prince, Rebecca and myself heading down a few blocks to the car. Rebecca had obscured us to hide our presence. The intense Summer heat and humidity seemed to have kept people off the streets. Besides, the hour had grown late.
We turn the corner. The car about twenty feet from us now. As they move closer toward the vehicle, we are ambushed.
Without a sound, Rebecca's head slams back as a bullet races through it. She falls to the ground, and the cloak surrounding us fades. Two more agents of VII emerge, flanking the car, which is now ten feet away. The first, a very large man, carries an ax upon his back, and the second, who smells of rotting meat, has a crossbow in hand. Our third assailant is still somewhere out there, unseen by us. As Rebecca hits the ground, I hear my nephew scream out, clutching his head. His mind undoubtedly assaulted, not unlike mine was when we faced off against the forces in the Bronx. As I turn my gaze back to Rebecca, I feel the crossbow bolt shatter through my rib cage. Slamming hard but miss its intended target. I call upon the powers of the blood to increase my body's resilience.
The giant rushes towards the mind-shattered Derzhava, grappling him in his oversized arms and slamming him to the concrete. Immediately, I place places myself over Rebecca, and turn to cast my gaze directly upon the Nosferatu. My teeth drop and I commands him to "Reload." The smelly marksman, compelled by my mind to do so, backs off and attempting to re-arm his crossbow. Fucking Nosferatu. It’s always a Nosferatu with me.
Rebecca recovers quickly, yet realizes that she cannot cloak the party without the grappled Prince. She draws her dagger and move past me towards the giant.
A second shot echoes out and strikes her in the shoulder. Yet she in turn stabs the giant in the back. My mind reaches out once more. I summon the blood to the plam of my hand. I slap it upon the giant's back, between the shoulders and the middle of his back where he can not possible reach it. As I mutter to myself in faint Italian, I hear my nephew begin a quiet incantation. The giant bites deep into the Crone’s shoulder. As he does, I see an all too familiar sight as the Heirophant's jaw dislocates, revealing a maw of teeth, and he and the giant now begin to trade vicious bites. I reach down and grab at the ankle-holster. My pistol is drawn. And as Rebecca strikes the giant again, this Venetian Rogue pulls the trigger, firing point blank at my gargantuan target.
Having taken repeated and excessive damage, as well as being weakened by my own blood curse, the giant tosses his Crone victim away and draws his ax. Having re-armed himself, the Nosferatu fires at me once more, striking but not impaling me. A third gunshot rings out, but miss Rebecca entirely. I turn my aim toward my own creepy marksman and fire again, but I miss as well.
Taking advantage of the Prince's freedom, Rebecca obfuscates the three of us once more. From there, we break into a run, as best we can in our various states of condition, ditching the car and racing down the street. After a time, I turn my head to see how much distance remains between us and them. It is then that I realize that we are not being followed. We make our way to a distant sewer grate. We descend into the depths and work our way towards the brownstone. I barely hear Rebecca call out my name, as she collapses into my arms. Undoubtedly using this opportunity to scouting first the car, then the brownstone, and finally her own boat. And when she returns to us, she confirms that all three locations will be devoid of VII agents.
Slowly, we make our way back to the brownstone. Bloodied and broken, punctured and gashed. Leaning upon each other to secure our steps. And as we lumber on, I look to him. I know how an attack on the mind in battle can be. I have been there myself more than once in the last few years. The only question being … what did they do inside his mind. My gaze shifts to her. I worry about how much worse this might have been had I not gone with her at all or had we not decided to go to the boat. And I think to myself …
”See, Carida, it’s nights like THIS … This is why you and I do not go the theatre often.”
PS. Must remember never to type in first person when "As One" is up! :P
It began as most gatherings of Court usually do. We step through a doorway in the brownstone and exit into the gathering place itself. I must admit to being rather amused by this little arcane spell. Pity that I am not versed at such things. Heavens knows that it would have saved me a great many dives through windows, across roof tops and down trellises over the years had I such a parlor trick in my cache. Nonetheless, we arrive.
News quickly follows. Attacks by VII. It stands to reason given the date as being 7/7/07. One can plainly see that subtle is not their strong point. Key amongst their assaults is one against Jason and another against Abigail. I look at Rebecca and she seems unharmed, but these attacks on one of my Dragons and upon her ‘daughter’ make my blood rise. Everyone is on edge now; that too is to be expected.
Moments pass … and then a voice. An all too familiar one in an equally familiar tone.
“Julian …You’d love to go to the theatre tonight, wouldn’t you?”
I turn and she’s standing there with Abigail and Underwood. My eyes look at that face, at that fiery hair and those twinkling irises … and I know that whatever plans that I may have had are now changed. Theatre. Off-Broadway. An opening of a new show written by the college student that she told me of earlier. Romanotti … Rom … whatever. Somehow connected to the whole prophecy thing, and though I do not understand any of it, perhaps this little theatrical experience will make it somewhat more understandable, I turn toward Ethan and I know that look. And so it seems to be … a double date with a chaperone. How quaint.
We exit toward the parking lot outside the club. Moving toward the cars … cars, I say now since there are two more from the Connecticut contingent who appear to have the same notion as we five. In any case, we move to the cars only to see the lumbering forms of what can only be zombie-like creatures moving towards us. As we move closer to the vehicles, they break into a run, closing the distance between themselves and us. Quickly, we enter the cars. Both drivers decide that a game of ‘chicken’ is the best means of putting things to an end. As we barrel through the bodies, I call the Prince to inform him of these potential incoming visitors. “Si, they came running toward us. No, I do not believe that they were attempting to catch a ride with us to the theatre.”
Moments later, we are at the theatre. We enter and take our seats. The curtain rises and this little thespian work begins. In and of itself, the piece is not bad; not stellar, but certainly not the worst I have seen either. The piece tells the tale of a man who commits suicide and then reverts back in time to recount the 5 days leading up to that act. Interspersed amongst these ‘days’ is the exposition of a character who is apparently an ‘Angel’. Now, I, for one, have never been a great fan of the character who serves as a narrator of sorts, who breaks the fourth wall with the audience and then serves as a deus ex machine for the writer’s intentions. I could never stand when Thorton Wilder did it, let alone some would-be Shakespear like Rom. Needless to say, the Angel takes the gun from its location before the man can use it and so he does not commit suicide, and the man and his wife reconcile, and … happy ending. Final scene … the presence of a glimmer of hope for a better tomorrow for our fateful cast of characters. Bah.
Of course, mid-way through the play, I feel Rebecca’s head against my shoulder. As I look over, I know that she is not there any longer. I’ve seen this move far too many times before, which only makes me wish that I was no longer here either. As I settle my attentions back to the stage, I feel the gentle thud against my other shoulder. Abigail too has departed. Like mother, like ‘daughter’. I sigh heavily.
The play concludes and the ladies return, amidst the ovation which follows. Rebecca points out the author’s presence, as well as two others of dubious intention and interest. As people begin to move, we do as well. Ethan is behind stage, attempting to see what he can gleen from that vantage point. Rebecca and I move toward Rom for an introduction, but he rebuffs us both. Meanwhile, Underwood and Abigail attempt to engage one of the other questionable men. Nothing comes of that either. As Rom moves to the backstage area, I forewarn Ethan to not lose him. We move toward the front entrance to make our exit, and I hear that familiar whispered phrase again.
“Julian .. catch me.”
Rebecca’s body goes limp and my arms reach out to grab her collapsing form. Of course, Abigail follows suite and I find myself grabbing for her slack body as well. It stands to reason that two passed out women would gain the attentions of the surrounding patrons, who encircle us and offer medical assistance and aid. Thankfully, Austin steps forward and takes Abigail from my arms. We make excuses of heat and libations taking their toll on the two, and we quickly walk them outside for ‘fresh air’. The four of us, two present and two not, make our way to the car … and wait. In the meantime, Ethan has inserted himself in the detail of protection and hired hands surrounding Rom.
Eventually, the two female ethereals return to their slumbering forms. What follows makes little sense to me. Tales of someone who appears to be connected to Rom … or more appropriately Rome. The name I now recognize. Prestigious law firm. Former prosecutors turned high price defense lawyers. Stories of a suite at the firm. A refrigerator filled with jars of octopus ink, of hearts, of octopi, of swatches of skin. Seems that one of the senior partners is delving into more than the law tomes. Attempting to decipher it all, we decide to return to court.
Upon arrival, Thomas finds me and asks for a moment privately. I join him in another room and, in the blink of an eye, he drops the concealed form of Callaghan. Seems they two were at the theatre and ran afoul of something else, which left my fellow Dragon in this state. Thomas offers to bring him out of it, and although he too is Mekhet, I decline. Best that a Dragon wake one of his own. I slice open my palm and feed it to the unconscious form. Slowly, Callaghan comes too. I make a call and have one of my ‘friends’ come to meet me and give him further sustenance. Which only makes me realize that I truly do need to expand the “herd”.
In the meantime, Ethan and I exchange multiple text messages. Back and forth it goes. He has supplanted Rom’s bodyguard and now has the young man in custody. He asks what we should do and not knowing what it is that we need or want from this boy, I instruct him to keep to what would have been the planned schedule, so as not to divert from a timetable or draw further questioning and ire from the Senior Rom/Rome. Upon realizing that Ethan has none of the security access codes to the upstate family estate they are headed to, Abigail and Underwood are quickly dispatched to attempt to aide Ethan from the inside.
The rest of court was rather boring following that. Some shared stories as entertainment for this gathering hosted by the Crone. A competition of sorts, with a boon from the Prince as the offered prize. I smirk as I hear Rebecca’s name announced as the victor. We exchange glances and I can see that we both have our own celebrations in mind following court. Off to the boat for us. Yet, I quickly realize that Lorenzo has already departed, which leaves my other nephew quite alone. Equally, with Ethan and Abigail both upstate, Rebecca and I are equally unprotected against any further attacks that VII might attempt this night. So our plans alter, and the three of us ready ourselves to return to the brownstone. I attempt a call to Ethan to advise him of our new plans, but get no response.
And so it came to pass that at the end of the court gathering, we three left. The Heirophant-Prince, Rebecca and myself heading down a few blocks to the car. Rebecca had obscured us to hide our presence. The intense Summer heat and humidity seemed to have kept people off the streets. Besides, the hour had grown late.
We turn the corner. The car about twenty feet from us now. As they move closer toward the vehicle, we are ambushed.
Without a sound, Rebecca's head slams back as a bullet races through it. She falls to the ground, and the cloak surrounding us fades. Two more agents of VII emerge, flanking the car, which is now ten feet away. The first, a very large man, carries an ax upon his back, and the second, who smells of rotting meat, has a crossbow in hand. Our third assailant is still somewhere out there, unseen by us. As Rebecca hits the ground, I hear my nephew scream out, clutching his head. His mind undoubtedly assaulted, not unlike mine was when we faced off against the forces in the Bronx. As I turn my gaze back to Rebecca, I feel the crossbow bolt shatter through my rib cage. Slamming hard but miss its intended target. I call upon the powers of the blood to increase my body's resilience.
The giant rushes towards the mind-shattered Derzhava, grappling him in his oversized arms and slamming him to the concrete. Immediately, I place places myself over Rebecca, and turn to cast my gaze directly upon the Nosferatu. My teeth drop and I commands him to "Reload." The smelly marksman, compelled by my mind to do so, backs off and attempting to re-arm his crossbow. Fucking Nosferatu. It’s always a Nosferatu with me.
Rebecca recovers quickly, yet realizes that she cannot cloak the party without the grappled Prince. She draws her dagger and move past me towards the giant.
A second shot echoes out and strikes her in the shoulder. Yet she in turn stabs the giant in the back. My mind reaches out once more. I summon the blood to the plam of my hand. I slap it upon the giant's back, between the shoulders and the middle of his back where he can not possible reach it. As I mutter to myself in faint Italian, I hear my nephew begin a quiet incantation. The giant bites deep into the Crone’s shoulder. As he does, I see an all too familiar sight as the Heirophant's jaw dislocates, revealing a maw of teeth, and he and the giant now begin to trade vicious bites. I reach down and grab at the ankle-holster. My pistol is drawn. And as Rebecca strikes the giant again, this Venetian Rogue pulls the trigger, firing point blank at my gargantuan target.
Having taken repeated and excessive damage, as well as being weakened by my own blood curse, the giant tosses his Crone victim away and draws his ax. Having re-armed himself, the Nosferatu fires at me once more, striking but not impaling me. A third gunshot rings out, but miss Rebecca entirely. I turn my aim toward my own creepy marksman and fire again, but I miss as well.
Taking advantage of the Prince's freedom, Rebecca obfuscates the three of us once more. From there, we break into a run, as best we can in our various states of condition, ditching the car and racing down the street. After a time, I turn my head to see how much distance remains between us and them. It is then that I realize that we are not being followed. We make our way to a distant sewer grate. We descend into the depths and work our way towards the brownstone. I barely hear Rebecca call out my name, as she collapses into my arms. Undoubtedly using this opportunity to scouting first the car, then the brownstone, and finally her own boat. And when she returns to us, she confirms that all three locations will be devoid of VII agents.
Slowly, we make our way back to the brownstone. Bloodied and broken, punctured and gashed. Leaning upon each other to secure our steps. And as we lumber on, I look to him. I know how an attack on the mind in battle can be. I have been there myself more than once in the last few years. The only question being … what did they do inside his mind. My gaze shifts to her. I worry about how much worse this might have been had I not gone with her at all or had we not decided to go to the boat. And I think to myself …
”See, Carida, it’s nights like THIS … This is why you and I do not go the theatre often.”
PS. Must remember never to type in first person when "As One" is up! :P